


Take a Ride

by Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Gotham City Garage (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Implications of past Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 13:43:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13742151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: The roar of his engine is one of the only sounds in the desert. The moon’s dim, half-hidden by scattered clouds, but that’s fine. Dick knows these deserts like the back of his hand; he can ride them better than anyone else out there, and night-riding is nothing to be frightened of. His ride’s a piece of beauty; she can handle anything these deserts have to throw at her, and so can he.





	Take a Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firefright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/gifts).



> Hello all! This was a birthday gift for my excellent partner in crime, Firefright. It's a little late actually getting posted, but she got to read it before so that's all good. This is a Gotham City Garage AU, featuring the little bits of Jason and Dick that we got to see in it. For those unfamiliar with it, it's a post-apocalypse comic where everyone wears leather and rides motorcycles. Jason is part of the 'Red Hood Gang', and Dick is a random free rider who was once part of the 'Garden', the evil-perfect-city run by Luthor and an evil Bruce. (It's a decent comic; sort of rushed, but presents an interesting world to play in.) Enjoy!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

The roar of his engine is one of the only sounds in the desert. The moon’s dim, half-hidden by scattered clouds, but that’s fine. Dick knows these deserts like the back of his hand; he can ride them better than anyone else out there, and night-riding is nothing to be frightened of. His ride’s a piece of beauty; she can handle anything these deserts have to throw at her, and so can he.

He’s off in the depths of it, utterly alone and away from any one gang’s territory. Still, it’s not long before there’s the roar of a second engine joining his, peeling out of the shadow of a rocky crag and coming up beside him. He slows just enough to let it happen.

The bike's not as high-tech as his is; doesn't have the built-in diversions and weaponry that make his as beautiful and unique as it is. It's a plain black, not a bad bike but not a great one. Really, it's all about the rider, and oh, Dick knows this rider. There aren't many people that can take a bike half as good as his and make it fly like this man can. Push it to its limits and keep going because he doesn't care for people putting rules on what he can or can't do. Even at the head of a pack, he stands out.

Dick grins, gunning his engine and pulling ahead. _Wanna dance?_

The rev of an engine behind him is all the answer he needs.

He doesn't look behind him, doesn't slow, doesn't give an inch as he's chased across the sands. Adrenaline makes him feel truly free, thrill rising high in his chest and making him feel utterly disconnected from the ground beneath the tires. Nothing matters but the wind in his hair and the roar of the engine under him, the bike a part of him as much as limbs or bones.

The swerve comes as easy as breathing, his body dipping low towards the ground as he brings the bike in just about as tight a circle as he can manage at these speeds. Sand is barely a foot below him, the bike threatens to spin out from under him at every moment. Flying back past his dance partner is worth every inch of the danger, and he laughs loud enough he can hear it past the sound of his engine when he glances back and sees the other bike spinning into that same curve. Just as tight, just as low. Courting danger.

Fearless son of a bitch.

The acceleration as the bike comes out of the curve is enough to gain on him, and Dick adds in a couple waving curves of movement to his path, kicking dust into a makeshift smokescreen (and giving up just enough speed to let that gain become something real). His pursuer slices through the screen without a hint of caution, bent low to the bike and going fast enough to come up right next to him within a couple moments. Dick flashes a grin, starts to gun the engine, and the rider swerves right into him.

Dick sucks in a sharp breath, shifting his weight back and jerking the front of the bike up to prevent the collision, front tire high in the air and the other bike going right beneath him. Inches to spare, body pressed flat to clear the space.

The tables flip, and when Dick comes down again he finds himself having to pull the bike into a hard curve to rejoin the chase. He's behind, there's sand in his face and the smell of exhaust on his tongue when he breathes. He's faster, his bike is _better_ , but the zigzagging path of his target only leaves him with false starts and dead ends, and he's not reckless enough to cause a collision just to stop them both.

Cliffs loom in front of them, the shadow falling quickly over both their shoulders where the moon's light doesn't reach, darkness hiding the details of the craggy rock face. Dick turns as the other bike does, curving to race along the front, following the line of it and keeping all too close to the unforgiving rock. He gains inches in the turn, but nothing else. But with that cliff to the side, there's no way to keep him pinned behind forever.

Dick guns the engine and swings wide.

He draws even soon enough, then ahead. His gaze finds the darker shadow in the cliff, the destination they've always been aiming for even if they took the long way there. A few hundred feet, a couple, _now_.

He jerks his bike over, accelerating into the turn and twisting the whole bike, keeping all his speed and letting sand spray as he turns right in front of his dance partner. Who twists too, slowing from the sharp application of brakes and turning them both towards that shadow in the cliff face. Except Dick shoots ahead with none of the sacrifice, and then pulls _hard_ to turn his bike as he squeezes down on the brakes, letting himself skid the last hundred feet into the mouth of the shallow cave. His bike stops just a few feet from the wall.

His grin feels permanent. He straightens the bike as his partner joins him, drawing to a halt a dozen or so feet away with a much less dramatic entrance. A flick of his hand kills the engine, a tap of his foot dropping the kickstand. Dick follows suit. He dismounts as Dick watches, freeing his head from the red helmet with an easy pull and letting it hang off one handlebar as he straightens up.

"Showoff."

Dick pulls his leg over the bike, bracing his palms on the seat so he can lean back into it and aim his grin upwards. "Only when I can get away with it. What? Sore loser, Todd?"

He's tall, broad shoulders and firm muscle under the leather of his clothing. Black hair curling at the edges from its confinement in the helmet, impossible to tame and utterly wild, just like Todd himself. He walks with all the confidence that height and strength give him, a few long strides covering the distance between them and bringing him close enough to push one knee between Dick’s thighs. His eyes are blue and green all mixed together and Dick likes to imagine it’s the color the sea used to be before the world fell apart.

He never gets an answer. Todd takes his head in firm hands and leans down to bring their mouths together and really, answers are overrated anyway.

Todd’s all aggression and heat and pushing, and Dick trusts his weight to the bike and lets it happen, grabbing hold of the leather at Todd’s shoulders in response. Teeth are almost too sharp against his lips and then the tongue he pushes forward before Todd beats him to it, but almost too sharp is just enough and he meets it at every turn. Todd digs nails into the back of his neck and he pulls at hair to counter, and he’s not the one to give first this time. The arch of his throat begs to be bitten, but Dick pulls harder and _down_ and seeing Todd go to his knees in front of him is much sweeter than the taste of that skin between his teeth.

Hands settle on his thighs, already spread wide by the breadth of the shoulders between them, push them wider, and Todd leans in against his grip and slides those hands to his waist as his mouth finds the bottom point of his tattoo. Dick can’t quite help a little gasp at that sensation; teeth and tongue just a couple inches above his navel.

He runs his fingers through Todd's hair, scraping nails over his scalp to answer the teeth finding sensitive spots along his ribs and the hands squeezing hard at his waist. He’ll leave with bruises and marks; people will make assumptions about the night he had but he doesn’t _care_. Let them assume whatever they want about who it is; he doesn’t owe anyone an answer. Not anymore.

Todd bites him a little harder, sucking hard at the skin he’s caught between his teeth, and Dick groans and presses himself into the touch. It’s just over the edge into pain, teeth bearing down but not quite breaking his skin. It’s a sensation he’s familiar with.

It nearly distracts him enough that he misses the movement of one of the hands on his waist. Nearly. Those fingers undo his belt with easy familiarity, and Todd only releases his bite once he’s got the leather pants beneath open too. Dick’s more than alright with that. Todd likes to push for physical dominance, likes to be the first to make a move, the first to push another step, but Dick’s never found any real loss in conceding that. Todd’s never made him feel _lesser_ like—

He misses some things from the Garden, but not the sex. Never that.

Fingers hook at the hem of his pants, pulling hard enough that they probably would have come off even without him lifting his hips a little to make it easier. They peel off his legs like butter, at least until they get caught at his ankles and Todd abandons them to slide hands up his calves and duck his head down against his leg. For a moment, hands sure and warm on his calves, breath hot against the inside of his thigh, kneeling there between his legs, Todd looks nearly… worshipful.

Dick pushes aside the deep quiver of need that makes his hands want to tremble, makes him want to beg for Todd to just keep looking like that, even if it’s a lie. It’s a terrible, addictive thing to be admired without having to be perfect, and Dick knows that if he gives into it he might never be able to drag himself back out. It’s dangerous to care that deeply when it’s not returned.

Dick winds his fingers more securely into Todd’s hair and pulls up as he leans down, pouring as much of his need and desire into his touch as he dares. Todd moans into it, tight and restrained as much as Dick’s letting himself loose. The fingers on his calves squeeze, stroking up to just below his knees and then sliding in to push his thighs even wider. His legs hit the bike before they’re open wide enough to even be a minor strain. He doesn’t think it’s for any reason other than that Todd likes to see how far he can bend. He’s happy to show off, and happy to inspire the lust he gets because of it.

Jason’s palms stay against the inside of his thighs to keep them open for as long as they kiss, and only slide away when Todd is free to breathe again and to stare up at him with reddened lips and intense eyes.

Dick avoids the look by smiling and bringing his legs back in to press against Todd’s shoulders. He could probably balance fine if he pulled them off the ground and wrapped them around Todd’s back instead, but he likes having the point of stability. Wouldn’t want to overbalance the bike and scratch the paint; that’s hard to come by sometimes. Todd’s not going to pay for it.

“What’d you bring?” he asks, diverting the attention off of himself.

“We’re at your bike,” Todd counters, voice lower and rougher than it was just minutes ago. “You first.”

Dick laughs, but gives into the power play. He disentangles a hand from Jason’s hair and stretches back to pop one of the compartments on his bike and reach within. The fabric he pulls out is an off-white, frayed at the edges and resewn more than a couple times, but that’s not bad quality for desert salvage. He shakes out the neat-ish fold till some of it hangs towards the sand, showing off the size.

“It’s pretty big,” he says anyway, confirming what’s visible.

Todd’s got a look of grudging admiration on his face, but he only grunts something noncommittal before he’s pushing up off the ground. Dick takes the opportunity to lean down and unlace his boots as Todd walks over to and digs into his bike, and gets his pants all the way off at about the same time as he straightens up again. He keeps his socks on, for a bit of protection against the sand; Todd will too, when he gets to that point. Dick knows how all this goes.

There’s something small in his hand, and Dick tilts his head and peers at the loose curl of it curiously until it’s held out for him to look.

Little plastic packages of lube. Hot _damn_.

“Where the hell did you get these?” he asks, nearly incredulous as he takes one from Todd’s hand and examines it. Lube. Lube is one little luxury he’s definitely missed from the Garden. Spit and sometimes some questionably safe oil or grease just really doesn’t match up.

“From a Luthor truck, where else?”

Dick shakes his head and laughs a little, and it barely even makes him bitter to mockingly echo, "Luthor loves you."

Todd grimaces. "Not an image I wanted in my head. Thanks."

He laughs a little harder, a little more honestly. Then pushes up from the bike and shakes out his cloth over the ground, a canvas sheet big enough to cover a good dozen feet in both directions; enough room to keep them off the sand if they don't push it. "Then take off those clothes and get over here. Pretty sure I'm the best distraction you could ask for."

The grin Todd aims at him isn't really an argument, but it does come with a bark of laughter and a not dissimilar shake of his head. The belts come off first, discarded off to the side along with the harness over his shoulder. Then gloves, as Dick sits down on the middle of the sheet and just leans back to admire and watch. It's just in time to watch Todd unzip and shrug out of his jacket, showing off the trimmed muscle of his chest and arms, not really at all hidden by the white-ish tank-top beneath. It's worn and a little too small, like most clothes out here.

Todd doesn't waste time, just throws the jacket over towards his bike, lands it across the seat, then drags his shirt off with easy confidence too. Dick gives an admiring whistle, just to do it. He takes full advantage of the moment of hesitance it causes to rake his gaze down across Todd's chest and admire the planes of muscle. The desert breeds muscle in general, but under the uniform that Dick's always privately thought of as silly, Todd's always been one of the most sculpted people he's had the pleasure of seeing. Broad shoulders, minimal scars, and thighs powerful enough to pull off those nearly suicidal bike tricks he regularly tries.

Dick also takes the time to look at the semi-visible press of his cock underneath the leather of the red and black pants. It's probably not hard yet, but it's a good cock. He likes it, at least.

He sets aside the packet of lube for later.

Todd shakes off the hesitance and moves forward to kneel down on the sheet, leaning in to put a hand on his shoulder and push him down. Dick goes mainly because it's easier than trying to fight for the 'top' position, and because he doesn't mind it. Todd's attentiveness outweighs his selfishness, and that's reason enough for Dick to usually go along with what he wants. Not just lying there, but letting Todd have his way at least to start with.

His back hits the sheet and a thigh pushes in between his, Todd leaning down and over him and kissing him deep and with that same sharp, desperate edge. He lifts his hands to run them up Todd's chest as he lifts his outer leg and hooks it behind Todd's to pull him in harder. The worn leather pants are soft against his skin, at least where the seams don't interrupt the feeling.

Todd makes the next move, because of course he does, and Dick's not all that surprised to find a hand sliding between them and palming his cock. It squeezes with practiced insistence, rolling in a slight wave to shift the feeling from his balls up across the length of him. Dick moans softly and doesn't have to fake it even a bit. It's easy to get hard, easy to wrap his arms around Todd's back and rock his hips up against that hand with no care for what he might look like. He's not embarrassed by pleasure or his expression of it.

"Mmm, that's good," he murmurs, when Todd breaks away to breathe. "Keep doing that."

Todd wasn't going to stop, but talking's always come naturally to him. He spent enough of his life holding his tongue; no more.

Dick shifts his grip, sliding one palm down the line of Todd's spine to find the swell of his ass and get a good handful (he'll like it even better later, when it's bare), and bringing the other between them so he can return the favor he's being given. His fingers undo Todd's pants with the same sort of automatic ease that he handles a bike with, and sliding his hand down in beneath leather and the cloth underwear is just like wrapping his hand around the handlebar. Squeeze down, and watch the machine come to life.

The groan is muffled into his jaw, then his neck, but Dick smiles all the same and tilts his head back to invite the touch as he pulls Todd's hips closer to his with his leg and the hand on his ass. The zipper bites into his thigh a little bit; nothing he can't ignore in exchange for Todd being pulled close to him, nearly pressed together. The back of his wrist brushes Todd's with every shift of their hands.

Todd grows hot and heavy in his hand, hardening against his palm till he thinks they just about match. Dick pulls his hand free then, and Todd lets go of him in turn just a moment later. He misses the pressure, but that's not going to stop him from shifting things along to the next step. Getting Todd out of those pants, to start.

They're on the same page for that one.

Todd pulls back to push the leather off his hips, and Dick takes the opportunity to shuck his jacket off as well. He loves the thing, but that’s exactly why; cleaning leather’s not so simple, and the more damage he can avoid the better. It makes them even anyway, both stripped down to socks and boxers and equally bared to the world and each other. At least until Todd gets rid of his boxers as well and then comes back to him, naked in all the ways that count and with a gaze hot enough to make it absolutely clear Dick’s the focus of its desire.

“Looking good, Todd.”

The compliment — only a bit sarcastic, and only in the way all his words tend to be — gets him a snort and a hard hand tunneling through his hair and dragging his head up. “Shut up, Dick.”

The kiss doesn’t really give him much choice in that regard, but he’s alright with that. He meets the passion that Todd brings, lowering his hands to push the boxers off his own hips and then maneuver them down off his legs. It takes some effort to do it without curling up or bending down, but he’s had some practice. He even manages to keep them on the sheets instead of accidentally flicking them off into the sand, and that he marks down as an accomplishment.

Todd nudges his thighs open with warm knees and he gladly goes, wrapping his legs up around Todd’s hips and enjoying, like he always does, the muscle and heated skin beneath his legs. He hears the rip of plastic and it’s such an unfamiliar sound now that it takes him a couple moments to realize that it’s the lube. He does at least get it in enough time that the touch of slippery, cool fingers doesn’t startle him, and he can squeeze Todd’s hips and give a wordless sound of encouragement into the kiss instead.

It feels incredibly easy to relax into all of it, with none of that same drag of friction he’s become used to. He wraps his arms around Todd’s back, winding fingers into his hair and keeping both their mouths occupied as Todd works him open, bit by bit. Maybe it’s the addition of the lube, but Todd seems to take more time than usual, fingers slick and sliding easy inside him. He can’t complain; it feels good and he doesn’t mind being careful every now and again. Aches can be a nice reminder, but sometimes… Sometimes he likes things without pain.

“Come _on_ ,” he finally gasps, dragging his fingers down Todd’s back with just a little bit of nail.

Todd takes a strained breath, shuddering under his touch but pushing into it all the same. “In a rush?” is the attempt at a counter, but Todd’s voice is low and rough with desire and his fingers are already sliding out.

Dick wraps his legs more securely around Todd’s waist, dragging him in and down with them. “Only in comparison to your lagging. Running out of fuel already, Todd?”

“Just biding my time.”

And Todd is pushing forward and _in_ and Dick lets his back arch as he moans in appreciation. Todd leans down into him, the support of an elbow the only thing keeping that last bit of separation between them, not that there’s much of it. Todd is all but pressed to him, and that’s more than fine with him. Skin-to-skin contact is one of the finest drugs he’s ever tried, when it’s done well and Todd, for all his rough edges, knows how to do it well. He’s never asked where that experience came from; he doesn’t want to know any more than he wants to tell his own stories.

He likes the strength in those powerful thighs, each thrust enough to rock him back before he pushes to meet it, and he’s never been able to get enough of the straightforwardness of it all. There’s no games, no need to beg for what he wants. He doesn't even have to ask for what he wants if he doesn't feel like it, he can just pull Todd's mouth to his and not worry about consequences or roles or if he's going to betray that he's not as mindless as he should be.

Todd scrapes teeth over his lip and his tongue, then his jaw when they fall apart to breathe. It's not hard enough to bruise or mark, and Dick trusts that restraint enough not to keep his guard up. Todd won't bite him there.

"That's it," he gasps, when Todd hits just the right angle. "Just there, that's— _Nn_ , that's good." His praise gets him added force, Todd's breath huffing out against his throat from behind teeth he knows are gritted. He arches his head back, moaning loud and free and letting the hedonistic pleasure of it all take full control. His fingers dig into Todd's back, clenching and releasing in his hair and keeping him close through every thrust.

Todd's always been quiet compared to him, but Dick relishes every groan and bitten back gasp that he manages to wring out. They work together, sweat beading on their skin and blending together as they slide and rock. The musk of sex heavy in the air and in every breath he takes., thick and primal and perfect in ways Dick never used to know existed. He says whatever comes to mind, and some of it he'd be ashamed to be actually called out on but the rest is just filth and praise in equal measure. Todd reacts with the same shaky breaths and flushed cheeks he always does, embarrassed by a compliment despite his confidence.

When his rhythm stutters, and Todd gives a breathless sound of pleasure, Dick takes the opportunity. Todd’s got good endurance, but Dick’s always more than willing to take the lead if he slows down.

A push of his legs separates them enough to get Todd to slip free, before Dick twists and flips them both over with one hard heave of effort. Todd grunts, not really startled but just reacting to the impact, and Dick settles down over his hips without any of the hesitation he just took advantage of. One hand guides Todd back into him even as fingers wrap around his hips, helping pull him down into the first fall. Their moans are echoes of one another.

Dick sets a fast pace, bracing his hands on Todd’s chest to support it. Todd keeps up; thrusting up into him as much as he’s bearing down, ever refusing to be a passive partner. Good.

Words finally fail him as they coil higher towards that release, and when it hits all he can voice is a sharp cry. He bears down, arching his back into a sharp curve. Todd’s fingers are tight enough on his hips that they might bruise, and the moment after Dick has his mind again — still with the aftershocks rolling through him — he clenches down hard and begins to move, driving himself through the almost painful pleasure of it to just— just a little more and—

Todd cries out and goes rigid underneath him, hips bucking up as he arches slightly off the sheet, head tossing back and exposing the long line of his throat. Dick’s struck with the sudden urge to _bite_ at it, but he just grinds down and lets himself moan instead. No visible marks on Todd; another line in the sand.

Dick keeps his eyes open so he can watch Todd slowly ease back against the sheet, expression falling into a blissed relaxation as he goes loose. There’s something intimate and vulnerable about him in that moment; the only time his guard is well and truly down and Dick can see right to the heart of him. All the rough edges pulled aside and this is all that’s left. Another thing to add to his list of addictions.

Dick breaks it before he can get caught watching, sliding his fingers up Todd’s shoulders as he leans down, getting a kiss that’s soft and idle as Todd reacts more on instinct than further desire.

“Not bad, Todd,” he grants, giving a smile to lay his teasing bare. “Been practicing?”

Todd grunts, teeth catching his bottom lip for a second but not with quite enough force to sting. “No; not interested in anyone else. What’s the point in settling for something second rate?”

It’s oddly sweet, in a backhanded sort of way. Dick smiles a little more truthfully and runs fingers up into Todd’s hair, scraping nails over his scalp and getting a flutter of eyelashes and a quietly pleased exhalation. The compliment, indirect as it is, warms his stomach in all the right places.

“Flatterer.”

He doesn’t give any chance to counter, pushing up and lifting himself off Todd in one smooth motion. He enjoys the last frisson of pleasure skittering up his spine as Todd slips from him, but doesn’t let it stop him from twisting off to the side and stretching himself out on the sheet. It’s even big enough that he can stretch fully out and not worry about dunking his extremities in the sand, which is relative luxury these days.

Todd turns towards him, one arm coming up to cushion his head as he stretches out on his side. Dick offers an inviting smile before he rolls over, pressing his back up against Todd and giving a pleased hum at the arm that circles his waist. Todd’s warm enough to chase away the chill of the desert air, and he greedily soaks in that warmth as he pushes back until they’re layered together, Todd’s breath hot against the back of his neck. He can lay here for awhile; till the world outside beckons and they have to leave the cave and any idea of a truce behind them. He’ll take every moment he can get.

Not that any moment is really free of the world outside. Not when familiar patterns pull his mouth open to ask, “Hear about the Garage?”

Todd grunts an affirmative. “Yeah.”

For all that it’s a single word, Dick can feel the layers of meaning in it. “They’re calling for allies,” he says, feeling around that edge of reluctance and grim knowledge he can make out.

A nose brushes the back of his neck, and fingers splay out across his stomach. "I heard. You going?"

Dick pauses for a moment. "I don't know. It's a lot of risk."

He'd considered it, back when he'd first heard that the Garage was going up against Luthor. A last stand, the Garage's collection of fighters up against all the force Luthor can muster to bring them down, powered dogs and foot soldiers alike. Dick's seen more of what Luthor can bring to bear than most people out here, and it's not pretty, but the Garage... They've got their preemptive strike. The Bat, in chains and taken out of the fight for now. Gordon, turned traitor and on the Garage's side. Those aren't small victories.

"Thought you liked risk." Todd's voice doesn't have the teasing that should be there, only something wary and carefully leading.

"Some. Not usually my life." He tilts himself into the sheet, burying his face in it with a quiet sigh. "If they can get some decent help, they might stand a chance, but I haven't heard much about what they've managed so far. Except catching the Bat."

Bruce. The name nearly makes him shiver.

There's silence for a few moments, as Dick closes his eyes and banishes the thought of his once-superior. Not anymore. He's free now. Those _things_ are out of his head and he doesn't have to fight them any longer.

Todd takes an audible breath. "Luthor wants to hire us."

Dick flicks his eyes back open, brow pulling into a frown. "What? Seriously?" Luthor has hired the Red Hoods before, he knows, but only for small jobs. Fetching things, or scaring off other riders from places Luthor didn't want them. Hiring them for something like this, for a _fight_ … That's different. Trusting the Red Hoods to fight alongside Luthor soldiers without turning on them? That's a hell of a gamble.

But if it _works_ …

"Yeah. I think the plan is to take the deal; it's a pretty damn good payoff, from what I've overheard."

Dick feels a sharp, irrational slice of anger that shakes off the last of whatever glow he was lingering in. "And all you have to do is kill your own kind."

Todd pulls away from him with an irritated grunt. "Don't pull that shit, Nightwing. We've never been allies with the Garage; we don't owe them anything and it's everyone for themselves in this wasteland anyway."

He rolls back over and sits up to match Todd, leaning on one arm. "Not being allies doesn't mean you work for Luthor. You're seriously going to sell out like that?"

"Fuck off." Dick watches as Todd brings his knees up, leaning both arms on them and hanging his head down between his knees. His shoulders are raised, back tense. "It's not my choice, you know that."

"It's always your choice. You—”

"It's not!" Todd all but snarls at him, turning to bare teeth in his face and square shoulders to meet him. "You don't get it; you're just some free rider. The Hoods raised me, and they're my _family_. I don't _get_ to turn my back on them."

Dick feels his back stiffen, his mouth flatten into a hard line. The anger that takes him is a cold, hard wall of a thing, and he uses it to hold Todd's glare and keep his voice even. "You think I'm just some carefree loner, Todd? I know _exactly_ what it's like to turn your back on family. You have a choice, you just haven't got the guts to go with what you know is right."

He shoves off the sheet and goes for his clothing, snatching his underwear and jacket from the ground before heading for the rest. Todd's staring up at him, but he ignores it. At least until he pushes up and is looking down instead.

The, "It's not the same," sounds weak, and Dick snorts and shrugs into his jacket.

"Everyone I grew up with, everyone I knew, thinks of me as a traitor. That new girl at the Garage? Barbara Gordon? I worked with her for years. The Bat? He was my mentor, my boss, my—” He shakes his head, grabbing his pants with a little more viciousness than necessary and starting to tug them on. "Too much. Do you have any idea how hard it is to recognize that something is wrong, or do anything about it, with a machine in your head fighting your every step?"

Todd's silent, his jaw clenched tight.

Dick turns back towards him, holding his head high. "No? I do. It took me months to figure out how to get out, and wait for just the right opportunity. Months with razor blades in my skull every time I thought something treasonous. But I _did_ it." He sneers, picking up Todd's pants from the ground and all but throwing them at him. "Luthor's about to use your whole 'family' as cannon fodder to wipe out the only real chance of fighting him that anyone's had in years. And then you're going to be the only threat left, and he's going to turn on you and burn you all to the ground.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do. You want me to lay out the tactical reasons, Todd? I enforced Luthor’s will for most of my life, I know how he operates.” He braces a hand on his bike to lean down and tug his boots on, and the upside down glimpse of him is as much warning as he needs to know Todd is moving closer, reaching out for him. “Don’t,” he snaps, turning, but Todd is stepping close and touching his jaw and arm with a gentleness he doesn’t expect.

He stalls for a moment, and Todd holds him tighter, something torn and sharp in his eyes. “Wait. I can’t just—”

Todd can’t seem to find the words, so Dick tilts his chin up and aims to hurt. “You can’t _what?_ You haven't got ride-alongs in your skull; what's your excuse?”

He gets a flinch for it, which doesn’t satisfy him as much as he wishes it did. Todd breathes out, staring at the ground between them. “I owe them _everything_ ,” he eventually says, low but stressed. “They’re not perfect but they took care of me. Raised me. You want me to just turn on them? Fight them? I can’t do that.”

Dick doesn’t pull free, yet, but he thinks about how he could. About how easy it would be to slam an elbow into Todd’s chest and get him on the ground. “Then convince them that this is a mistake. You don't have to go to war, just get them not to take Luthor's deal. It's going to get them all killed; _do_ something about it.”

“I don’t have that kind of power.”

Now Dick pulls free, yanking his arm away with one hard pull and shifting back enough that Todd’s hand falls away from his face. “Why not? You were raised in that gang, weren’t you? Everyone knows you, everyone respects you. That sounds like power to me.”

Todd grabs him by the jacket at his shoulder but freezes there, not reeling him closer or taking the initiative. It feels enough like desperation that Dick lets it happen, watching through narrowed eyes. They've never had cause to really get into it, but Dick has no doubt that he can handle Todd if he needs to. He was trained to handle just about anyone. He can recognize violent intent too, and Jason's grip doesn't feel violent to him, more like a last resort. His eyes are a little wild.

Dick doesn't stop him when he leans in, and the kiss is delicate, shaky in how Todd exhales, forehead pressing to his and staying there. He doesn't pull away. Doesn't want to.

"Is this it?" Todd breathes, and it echoes a question Dick wasn't quite aware he was asking.

Luthor won't stop. He'll burn the Garage, and the Hoods, and then he'll hunt down anyone left standing that isn't a slave to his ideology. The only choices are run or fight. There's nowhere left in that world for any of this, is there? No moonlit rides or secret meetings. No half-lived fever dreams of sex and intimacy in this little shelter of a cave. This might be the last time he ever even sees Todd, and even if it's not, what are really the chances that they both live to do this again? Or that they'll even want to, after whatever happens?

He lets his eyes stay closed, speaking in the same breath of a voice. "I guess so."

Todd lets him go.

The hand lets go of his jacket and Todd backs up, giving him the space to stand there in front of his bike. He's still shirtless, and Dick takes one last look at everything he's never going to see again. It hurts a little, an ache in his chest, but that's a familiar feeling. He can handle it. He's used to leaving behind the things he cares for; never getting attached is easier, but he seems to be impressively bad at that part.

Lifting his feet to brace against the bike one at a time, so he can tie the laces of his boots, gives him a bit to breathe through it and push it all out of his head. There's nothing he can do about this. He has to let it go. He swings onto the bike, taking his helmet and pausing there for just a moment. Todd's just watching him, still and silent. His hands are balled into fists.

"Good luck," is all Dick can bring himself to offer, before he tugs the helmet on. There's an ' _I hope you survive_ ,' on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it back.

"Yeah," Todd answers. "You too."

He starts the bike, and there's nothing in his way as he revs the engine and drives it back out of the cave.

The night’s as silent as it was driving in, the sands and moonlight his only companions as he turns his bike in the direction of the little hideaway he calls home. Not much more than an emergency bunker, but he’s worked to get the water running again and that’s good enough for him. Everything else in it he’s collected over the years, bits and pieces of whatever luxuries he can find or trade for. He’s better on his own. Safer. He can pack up and take off and find somewhere else to hide from Luthor’s forces, somewhere more remote.

He doesn’t owe anyone here enough to stick around for a fight like this; he’s never been the suicidal type and that’s exactly what the whole idea is. Suicide. Luthor will bulldoze right over them and destroy any hint the Garage ever existed. They just don’t have the allies to make a difference.

The cold wind stings at Dick’s chest, and he grimaces and pulls on the brakes, slowing the bike down to a gradual stop. He reaches to zip the jacket up automatically, but his hands stall halfway there. His gaze is caught on the tattoo covering most of his chest, his gift from Ivy, when he went to the Black Grove like all riders do, eventually. Seeking purpose and a path to be set on in the otherwise endless desert roads.

_“You have a demon that follows you, Nightwing. One so intrinsic to your being you won’t let yourself forget it.”_

He didn’t get a path, just a reminder and a warning that there are things that will haunt and hunt him all his life because of what he’s done. Things and people he can’t escape, no matter how he runs or hides.

Even if Bruce and Luthor never find him, he’ll remember them forever. He’ll be looking over his shoulder forever, because traitors to megalomaniac dictators never get to rest easy.

God _damnit_.

He guns the bike and drags it back around in a tight circle, teeth clenching down behind his helmet.

Maybe death is better than that after all.

* * *

Barbara greets him cautiously, and then with a hug that threatens to leave him with bruises. He smiles and actually even means it a little bit, though he doesn’t find much else to smile about.

A handful of riders, a basic shield to protect the Garage, and a couple people still out looking for allies that haven’t gotten back yet. Nothing impressive, and he doesn’t think it’s enough to stop Luthor. Though the super-powered ones might give him a bit of trouble before everything breaks apart. Dick can’t quite help his pessimistic view of their chances, even with Bruce chained up in their back room.

He helps with preparations and scouting skirmishes for two days, avoiding that back room at all costs. Barbara suggests he goes in, but he just smiles and rejects the idea. Maybe she felt like she needed to confront him, maybe the rest of them did too, but he doesn't. He knows Bruce; there's nothing he can say to turn him, and Dick doesn't want to give him the chance to get under his skin. So regardless of the pull he feels to go in there, to just _look_ at the defeated Bat, he holds himself back. It's not worth the damage Bruce can do, when you underestimate him.

He's fairly sure Barbara did. He's not sure how, but she's got a shadow in her eyes and an edge to her tone, and she looks that way all too often. He was trained by one of the deadliest people in the Garden; he can recognize weakness when he sees it.

Besides, he's unclear on how many of them know that he was Garden-born, and he'd like to keep that information as quiet as possible. He's got enough suspicion already as the only male — apart from Jimmy — to show up as help; the Garage is women-run and women-strong, after all. Really, the fact that no one else has showed up is justification enough for their wariness.

He's eating lunch when the call goes out. Riders on the horizon. Incoming.

People rush for weapons, and Dick to his bike. Everything he needs is there. He's one of the first outside, which means he's one of the first to see the riders coming in and recognize their patterns. Red, black, and white. Helmeted. It's the Red Hoods, but it only takes him a squint and a glance to see it's not all of them. Not by far. Maybe a third, if his estimates are right. (The whole gang doesn't ride together often, but he thinks he's got a pretty decent grasp of how many there are.)

"Wait!" he calls, before anyone can get trigger happy. Irons looks at him with a sharp demand to know more, so he adds, "I talked to Todd, before I came here. You know, the lifer? Their front rider? Luthor was looking to hire the Hoods and I tried to convince him to speak out against it, and this doesn't look like a full attack force. He might have actually done it."

"You think that thief can be trusted?" Big Barda asks, huge and towering over him.

He's got enough steel in his spine to meet her gaze without flinching. "We're all thieves. I don't think we'll know till they get here, but I can ride out and ask. I've never known him to be a liar. Keep the shield up; I'll take the risk."

Kara's the one to look at him, all big eyes and concern, and say, "Don't get killed, alright?"

A promise would be a lie, so he doesn't give one. He just flashes a smile and pulls out past the barrier. Not far, he wants the backup if this all goes south — if Todd isn't even at the head of this particular pack, if it's an ambush — but enough to give them a bit of warning if it is. Just enough time to react.

He'd recognize the outfit on that lead rider anywhere though, and even though he knows it could be a trap he relaxes a bit at that stupid uniform.

Todd pulls up close to him, feet bracing against the sand to hold the idling bike as he pulls his helmet free. The motion ends in a full-body flinch, and a hard press of Todd's right arm into his side. It's not hard to read the pain in his wince, or how he shifts carefully until they're facing one another as much as sitting on the bikes will allow.

"I didn't know if you'd be here," Todd says, guarded and maybe a little breathless.

"Neither did I." He frowns, taking a closer look at that side and seeing the shiny dampness of what he'd lay bets is blood on the leather there. "You're hurt."

Todd huffs a laugh, tosses his head up and flashes a grin back at the other Hoods. His, "There was a bit of an argument," is loud enough for them to hear, and some of them give laughs back. "Not everyone liked the idea of giving up on Luthor's payday. It's just a graze."

Dick feels his shoulders relax a little more. "You're here to help?"

The grin fades, and Todd's voice is quiet but serious when he answers, "Yeah. Yeah we are. I think it's probably all going to go to shit, but you know... better to live free than die a slave or some shit, right? And I…” He dips his head, clears his throat a little. "I couldn't stand the thought of that cave being the last time I ever saw you."

Dick feels that place in his chest go warm, and he can't help the smile that curves his mouth. "Yeah?"

Todd gives a little quirk of his lips back. "Yeah."

He leans in, and Todd meets him halfway in a sudden rush. The kiss feels desperate, feels like a thousand words unspoken. Or maybe just three important ones.

The Hoods are laughing, and Todd pulls back with a rueful smile. "Yeah, yeah!" he calls back, but it doesn't actually sound offended. "Laugh it up!"

Dick laughs a bit too, and raises his voice to yell, "Come on in! We've got space for everyone!" Which may or may not be true, but that's really not the point.

Todd shakes his head and chuckles to himself as the other Hoods start to accelerate past them, and Dick twists back just long enough to flash an 'all clear' sign at Irons and Barda. It's still almost long enough that he misses the rider that claps Todd on the shoulder with an amused, "Little Todd finally getting some!" before driving past.

Dick pushes his bike forward the last couple feet, till they're nearly brushing and Todd looks up to meet his gaze. "Come on," Dick murmurs, reaching out to clasp Todd's arm for a moment, "let's get you patched up. We've got a war to win."

Todd blows out a breath. "Tall order. Think we've got an actual chance?"

"Better one now."

That gets him a laugh, and Todd leans in to kiss him again. Softer. "Sounds good enough to me."


End file.
